


Those Who Favor Ice

by CatalenaMara



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Background and Cameo Characters, Lots of other characters briefly referenced, M/M, Minor Jane Foster/Thor, Virgin Steve Rogers, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:53:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4867283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CatalenaMara/pseuds/CatalenaMara
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You haven’t said anything incorrectly so far,” Steve said, and could hear an edge in his voice.</p><p>“Men of such beauty and strength and talent often feel they must outshine everyone they meet.  That they must cast a very large shadow so that the world sees only them.”</p><p>So many emotions crossed Loki’s face so quickly that Steve could only interpret a few.  Resentment.  And longing.  And need.</p><p>“I wasn’t always strong,” Steve said slowly.  “Not as a child.  I was sickly - so weak that anyone could beat me.”</p><p>Loki’s gaze sharpened.  “And did they?  Beat you?”</p><p>NOTE:  The prologue and epilogue of this story is written in “myth” style; the story itself is written in “standard” style.</p><p>Many thanks to my beta <span></span><a href="http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Muriel_Perun/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/*Muriel_Perun*/"></a><b>*Muriel_Perun*</b> for both the beta and her invaluable information on New York City.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heeroluva](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heeroluva/gifts).



So it was that Odin Allfather rose from his sleep restored to his full power.  And so he came to where Loki King sat upon Hliðskjálf.  Loki beheld him and stood and descended to the step where Odin was standing.

There, he presented Gungnir to the Allfather, who accepted it gravely.  As his hands left the staff, Loki, no longer King, descended to the step below the Allfather and looked up to face him, as was right. 

They spoke for some time, and though Odin Allfather sees all in his Sleep, still, it is best to hear the words as well.  So Loki, now Prince again, told him of the treason of Sif and Fandral and Hogun and Volstagg, of how they had ignored Odin King’s will and sought to circumvent his command regarding the fallen prince Thor’s banishment.  Of how loyal Heimdall had reported their treachery to him.  They now resided in the palace dungeons, awaiting the wisdom of the Allfather’s sentence against them.  And Prince Loki, feigning sadness, told the Allfather that the fallen prince still dwelt among mortals, as powerless as any of them, having found a woman among them he favored, but no chance of heroism, while Mjolnir remained unclaimed, a curiosity to mortals, unmovable by any.  And Odin knew all this to be true.

Then Odin said to the Prince, let us speak of these things, of Jotunheim and your birth and my choice of you as son.  But Loki turned his gaze away, and then his back.  And then walked away.  And Odin King forgave his disrespect, summoned his councilors and attended to business.

For those past days Loki had thought much on what lay beneath his skin, and thought much on what he had seen from Hliðskjálf, and all of his thoughts made a chaos in his head until only one thought remained clear in his mind.

Odin, for his part, spent much time in discussion with his councilors to discuss Laufey King’s demand for reparations for the deaths Prince Thor had caused in his realm.  By the time Odin King sent for his son to speak to him privately, the Prince had already been to the Vault and taken away with him two of its treasures.  Loki then departed Asgard, and was no more seen there.

 

Then Loki, no longer King, no longer Prince, came to Midgard, to that place called Puente Antiguo, and there beheld his not-brother Thor, seated with his woman Jane before one of the screens which provide Midgardians with their sagas and their tidings.  Wrath rose in Loki, and hate, and sorrow, and jealousy, for the woman had what he did not, and Thor had always had what he had not.  And he thought also of how Thor, the fool, had stepped right into the trap Loki set for him and thus had led Loki into disaster, when Loki had only ever wanted to show all of Asgard Thor was no fit king.  And so Loki had learned what he now so desperately wished to unlearn, and did not think at all that he had brought his own trouble upon himself. 

So Loki thought to strike both Thor and his woman dead.

But then he took a closer look.

And what he saw was this:

Thor’s woman, looking away from him and away from the large screen, her attention entirely on a smaller screen on her lap.  Her fingers flashed, filling the screen with the sorcerous runes by which she intended to build her own Bifrost.  And Loki felt a brief flash of amusement at her effrontery, and then gave it further thought and decided Odin King might yet be surprised by these mortals.

And so he let Thor’s woman be.

And what he saw was also this:

Thor, his arm around his woman, his face turned toward the large screen.  And what Loki saw on his face was discontent.

So Loki looked at the screen on which Thor’s attention was fixed and saw a Midgardian warrior, whose kenning was Iron Man, splendid in red and gold armor, in battle against many armored opponents who appeared to be like the Destroyer in that there was no living thing within the metal.  He felled them all until they lay by the dozens at his feet.

The screen changed, and now here was the hero, dressed in black and white, handsome in his way with his intense brown eyes and his stylized beard, being feted by a crowd of his subjects.

When Loki looked back at his not-brother he saw on Thor’s face what he had never thought to see.

Envy.

Loki was suddenly filled with pleasure at seeing Thor brought so low that he would be envious of a mortal, mighty warrior though he might be.  But then his pleasure was stabbed through with some other twisting emotion; something that sickened and stole his joy and turned in to a harsh clawing feeling he could not name.  He did not understand why he felt sorrow when he should delight in his not-brother’s downfall.

So he turned from the place called Puente Antiguo away from where Midgard’s star set on the horizon and began to walk.  He walked for many days, through barren lands, changing his course to pass through forested mountains.  And all the while he walked wrath and sorrow and the bitterest envy waged war for control of his mind.  When wrath became dominant he lashed out and flames surged around him and a vast forest caught fire.  He walked on, unheeding, and slowly the wrath died as he walked through grain-filled lands so flat no landmark on the horizon could be seen for many days.  Envy died as he turned his steps further northward, avoiding the cities and towns and villages of mortals, and their roads as well, passing between them as something invisible and powerful and mutating.

The days grew shorter and colder and snow began to fall around him and then the land was nothing but ice.  And sorrow died as well, and he felt nothing at all as he walked ever further on.  And now Midgard’s star was up for only a short time each day and the darkness came swiftly again, and he became aware that his skin had turned purest white.  Then, the slightest tinge of blue crept in.

No longer caring, he let it happen.  By the meager light of each brief day he saw the blue ghost across his skin, darker and darker each day, and then the lines followed, Laufey’s lines, his unknown heritage.  And the world had turned into different shades and colors and he knew he now beheld the land through crimson eyes.

Finally he came to a place as blank and white as all the rest of the land he had traversed in the past many days and yet it was here he stopped.

For he had remembered something he had seen in but a casual glance from when he had sat upon Hliðskjálf, seen and passed on as unimportant, but now the faintest curiosity intruded through the ice surrounding his mind, and he realized it was here his footsteps had been leading him.

Below him, he knew, lay the broken remains of a Midgardian airship.  And inside it…

He slipped through the ice as easily as he slipped between realms.  He passed through the broken metal skin of the tomb as if it were not there, and at last came upon what he had not realized he sought.

A warrior lay in repose, easily taken for dead for there was no breath in him.  With him was a great circular shield, of red and white and blue, with a five-pointed star at its very center.

Loki looked upon the warrior, upon the pale hair and ice-white skin, of the finely cut features visible though the rime of ice which covered him like a shroud, and saw his beauty and knew his valor. 

Loki knelt beside him and rested one hand on the warrior’s face, clearing the ice away so he could gaze upon the handsome features.  The ice melted and reformed between them, and when his black-nailed hand touched the stone-hard skin he sensed the mind within, still and silent, sleeping a sleep so deep and profound there was no room even for dreams.

And something in him yearned toward the perfection of this man, this being, for he was and was not like the other mortals here.  And he did not say to himself, I desired Thor in such a way.  But he did know, suddenly, he desired this man, whose flesh was as cold as his own.

He told himself instead, this was a powerful and valiant warrior, and he could find some use for him.

The memory came to him of an old tale, one common to all the realms, of those who wait sleeping for a Prince to awaken them.  So he formed a dream of his own, that he would be known and welcomed, and sent it through his fingertips down into the stillness and silence, then withdrew his hand.

He then bent his head forward and pressed his icy lips to the warrior’s frozen ones.

Waited. Leaned back.  Not one of the finely defined eyelashes fluttered, not one wisp of breath passed through the warrior’s nostrils.  The body lay hard and cold as a statue, and Loki, disappointed and oddly relieved, stood.

He spent a moment longer gazing at the warrior’s face.  Then Loki opened a portal and slipped through a pathway to where he knew he must inevitably go.

And there, on Jotunheim, shielding his deeds from Heimdall’s gaze, he strode into Laufey’s ruined palace, and there he made challenge to Laufey King as his son and rightful heir.  He did this in the old way and the old words, for out of all the books in Asgard’s library that none but he had read in centuries, the book on Jotunheim customs now proved to have been quite useful.

All of Laufey’s councilors gathered around and laughed at the effrontery of the tiny giant and mocked and insulted his voice, so much higher than their own deep rumbles, and made many threats.

But he had made legal challenge and Laufey King accepted it, lest he lose face.

Laufey was already dead, though he did not yet know it, and though it made no difference at all, it was still unwise for Laufey King to say to the son of his body, “Ah, the bastard son. I thought Odin had killed you. That's what I would have done. He's as weak as you are.”

Then Loki pulled out from the space between worlds one of the two treasures he had taken from Odin’s Vault, and as Laufey King formed his great ice sword Loki wielded Surtr of Muspelheim’s great flaming sword and sliced clear through his father’s body.

Laufey fell dead to the ground.

Most certainly there was shouting and threats and outrage and hands forming ice spears but Laufey’s councilors fell silent as Loki pulled out the second treasure and displayed the Casket of Ancient Winters to all present.

They looked upon its shimmering splendor and went still and silent, then all fell to their knees.

Thus Loki became King again.

 


	2. Chapter One

Even the air smelled different. 

It was not a new observation.  It had struck Steve the first time he’d burst out into this new world.   The smell was cleaner, free of the taint of coal smoke and the belching stink of industrial smokestacks spewing out toxic plumes. 

Now, the taste of the air was filled with different chemicals, the thick odor of strange foods, the smell from these new vehicles, the people walking past wearing unfamiliar perfumes, all of this resting on top of the familiar smell of human sweat and the dusty reek of old brick and brownstones.  Different, and the same.

Equally disorienting, the cacophony of flashing lights and raucous sounds so different from anything he’d ever seen or heard before.  Yet everything at its core was still much the same – because noise and smell and lights and _life_ were what New York was about.

Here and there the chaos was pierced by specific recognizable odors – Italian cooking, hot dogs and mustard, and the grass and trees of Central Park.

Where Steve was now currently sitting on a bench, sketchbook by his side, finishing off the last of four hot dogs with mustard and relish – at least some things haven’t changed.

He took a long pull of Coca Cola from a paper cup and made a face, struck again that some things _had_ changed.

Like Coca Cola.  He’d been told that they’d stopped using real sugar in Coca Cola “ages ago”, replacing it with some kind of sweetener made from corn. 

But, like so many of the familiar buildings around him, other traces of the past remained.  Tony had ordered JARVIS to arrange for a crate of Coca Cola in glass bottles – not plastic, not cans – shipped to Steve’s apartment on a weekly basis.  They tasted just the way he remembered Coca Cola tasting, but the bottles now bore the words “hecho en Mexico”.

At least there were still hot dogs for sale among all the other choices – Thai food?  Salvador?  Vietnamese?  Tony and Bruce had been introducing him to new cuisines, and he liked a lot of them – but there was something so comforting in the familiarity of hot dogs.  He kept trying new foods, though, and spent a lot of time each day learning new things.  He’d taken to studying world maps, and even there so much had changed.  Europe was filled with new countries, some with old names  – Belarus, Moldova, Macedonia – so many others.  Parts of Africa were nearly unrecognizable.   The Soviet Union – gone.  China now what Russia had become shortly before Steve had been born – but in its own unique way.

Reading recent histories was fascinating.  But seeing the changes close to home…

The hardest part was the visible ghosts of his past.  The Empire State Building.  The Chrysler Building.  He remembered standing in awe beneath them when they were new, looking up at the tallest buildings in the world.  They’d made him feel even smaller than he usually did.

His mother had taken him to see the Empire State Building being built.  He’d just recovered from rheumatic fever, and remembered still the combination of feeling well for the first time in weeks, delighted to be outdoors again and exhilarated at the sight of a building so magnificent reaching for the sky. 

New York was filled with streets with familiar names, but so much else had changed, the streets themselves might as well be markers of an ancient ruin, excavated anew amid the new city which had sprung up above them.  Here the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building and many other buildings he knew still stood tall, but now decades older, while so much else was different, and everyone he had known - was gone.

He was used to change.  He was used to different food, different accents, different cultures.  New York had always been full of those things.  And wartime in Europe had been one new experience after another.  But now he was back in NYC, and even the food and the accents and the cultures had changed.  Little Italy was gone, and in its place storefronts and restaurants announced their presence with Chinese lettering.

He was used to change – elsewhere.  It was hard to sleep, sometimes, being here, in New York, and wanting so much just to be – at home.

He picked up his sketchbook again and examined the picture he’d just finished.  It was a quick sketch, of a toddler, pink bow on her head, with arms up reaching for a butterfly.  Her mother, face turned away, cell phone to her ear, was nothing more than a few pencil strokes, but he was pleased with the way he’d caught the impression of the toddler’s excited face as she reached for something she couldn’t grasp.

He looked around for another potential subject.

And set the sketchbook down.

Two men were walking past him, hand in hand.  Their heads were turned toward each other, and he heard a snatch of conversation – something about picking up something from the grocer – and then they were gone.

The way they smiled at each other.  The way they held each other’s hands, not caring who might see them.

He glanced around.  Oh yes.  No one was looking at them, and no one was pretending to look away.  Everyone was involved in their own business.

So much had changed.  But this – this was something he’d never imagined _could_ change.  And he felt yearning and shock, and memories flashed through his mind of soldiers in hidden corners, their hands and mouths on each other’s cocks, taking pleasure quickly, furtively, walking away from each other after.  Of the hidden gay clubs in the neighborhoods of his youth, the raids, the arrests.  Of knowing it was a sin, but wanting it anyway.  Knowing how much he had _wanted_ – but never had.

Always with him as watcher.  Never a participant.  Who would ever want _him_? 

Even after he had become Captain America, no one wanted Steve Rogers.  Chorus girls and women by the score threw themselves at The Star Spangled Man.  He had turned them all down politely.  He knew some of them had laughed at him, that some of them thought him old-fashioned and shy, and that sometimes their laughter held sympathy.  He remembered their coaxing voices - _it’s wartime, soldier; who knows where any of us will be tomorrow?_ – but still he politely said no and never said – could not say – that he didn’t want women at all.

Men asked too, but he never accepted any of these offers.  They didn’t want Steve Rogers either.

He thought of Bucky, always with a dame on his arm.  Who had never offered.  But Steve had wanted.

He tried not to think of Bucky.

A pink-haired woman and a young man wearing very baggy pants walked past.  He smiled, shook his head, and reached for his sketch pad.  Something had caught his attention, something he needed to draw.

A man sat down on a park bench a little way down the path.  He was looking intently at another one of those electronic devices everyone seemed to carry.  He crossed his legs, turning slightly in Steve’s direction, tapping quickly at the screen.

Steve stared, fascinated.  The man’s collar-length, intensely black hair had been swept back from a sharp, angular face.  His skin was as pale as if he’d spent his entire life indoors.  He was dressed in what was clearly an expensive tailored three-piece suit which emphasized his long legs and lean torso.  Steve quickly drew in the intent look on the man’s face, the sheer concentration on the object he held.  He filled in more details, feeling a sense of excitement he couldn’t place and didn’t question.  Focused on finishing the shading on the suit, he was disappointed when he looked up and saw the man had stood up and was walking in his direction, still looking at his device.

Suddenly self-conscious, he started to close the sketchbook when the man paused, glanced his way, then stopped in front of him.  He looked the drawing over then gave Steve a bright smile.  “You flatter me,” he said, in a voice with some kind of undefined European accent.

Steve blushed and closed the sketchbook.  An inexplicable shiver ran across his skin – an odd sense of – recognition?  But he was sure he’d never seen this man before.

“You are very talented,” the man observed.  “May I see?” 

Time seemed to stop as Steve stared up into the man’s eyes – an amazing shade of green, a color he’d never seen before.  Part of his mind was considering the right combination of colored pencils to achieve it.  The rest of him stayed still, mesmerized by the clear interest in those eyes.

Without invitation, the man sat on the bench by Steve’s side.  Self-conscious, Steve handed over the sketchbook, and found himself watching the various expressions that crossed the man’s face as he paged through it.  Approval at his drawings of fountains and statues, a type of wistfulness at his sketch of a mother reaching to a child, a suddenly blank look at the sketch of two boys running. “Yes, very talented,” he said again. 

Steve tried to place the accent – not Jacques’s French – another pang at yet another loss -  not German, Italian or Spanish, or any of the eastern European accents he’d heard in the war.  But who knows, everything else had changed, maybe those accents had as well.  Even some accents in the good old U.S. of A. sounded different – another surprise.

“I’m Steve Rogers,” he said, and held out his hand.

The other man took it and gave it a firm quick shake.  “I am Loki Friggajarson.”  There was a look in his eyes which Steve suddenly, surprised, interpreted.  He had seen interest in those eyes before.  Now, they held a look of invitation.

“Would you…” he hesitated.  This is not something he did.  This was…

This was the 21st century, and things had changed.  And there was something about this man, something electric, something undefinable…  It was as if they’d met before.  But he would definitely remember **that**.

“Would you like to go for coffee?” he asked.

“I would be delighted,” said Mr. Friggajarson, and there was a hint of hunger in his voice and his gaze.

Nervous and trying to hide it, Steve got up and led the way out of the park, bypassing a local trendy coffee shop – offensive what these places charged for a cup of coffee when that money could be better spent helping people in need – to a corner diner where the coffee was good and the prices were reasonable.

They passed a newsstand on the way.  Prominently displayed copies of the NY Post screamed the latest headlines:  AVENGERS ANNIHILATE DOOMBOTS!!!

Steve winced and hurried past, noting Loki hadn’t so much as glanced at the newspapers, grateful once again he wore a cowl and that he could go out in public incognito and walk the streets undisturbed.  Unlike Stark who had revealed his identity at the first opportunity and reveled in all the attention.  Not that Stark could have gone out incognito BEFORE Iron Man, but still.

They settled down in a booth, Mr. Friggajarson looking around as if he’d never been in a diner before.  Well, he probably hadn’t.  Steve was suddenly aware that the table top had some scarring and that the booth covering was worn in places.  He’d never noticed these things before, and was irritated with himself that he noticed them now.  But Mr. Friggajarson seemed like the kind of rich guy who’d been served on gold plates and cutlery his entire life.

The other man didn’t look condescending – more like he was examining and cataloging unfamiliar objects.  He looked back quickly from perusing the counter and gave Steve an encouraging smile.  Edie, his usual waitress, popped over with a pot of coffee, because he always wanted at least one pot, and two cups.  She gave Steve a flirtatious smile and directed one at Loki as well, giving the other man a not-so-subtle once-over before leaving to get the cherry pie Steve ordered.  Loki ordered one as well.

“Is your work on exhibition anywhere?” Loki asked.

“What?” Steve said, startled.  Then, “Oh, no.  This is just something I do for fun.”

“You should consider doing more with your work, then.”  Loki lifted the cup to his lips and Steve watched his long throat as he swallowed.

He swallowed himself and shifted, surprised at how uncomfortably hard he was.  _This is just coffee.  This is a stranger.  Nothing’s going to happen.  Why am I thinking these thoughts anyway?_  It was because of that couple in the park, he thought.  Making him yearn for something he had never had.

_Or maybe that’s about to change…_

Mr. Friggajarson was leaning slightly forward, open interest in his eyes. 

_Something_ is _going to happen,_ Steve thought, and gooseflesh suddenly rippled along his arms and every nerve felt alive.  He tried to keep his voice calm and asked the other man the first thing that came into his head.   “Where are you from?” he asked.  “I mean, do you live in New York?”

“No,” Loki said.  “I am most recently from Tromsø.  They are doing most interesting work there.”

“Norway, right?” 

“Yes.”  Loki toyed with his fork, then took a single bite of pie, then dipped his head minutely, as if approving of the taste.

Edie set another slice of pie down without being asked.  “Where **do** you put it?” She bent her head slightly, her graying red hair obscuring his view of Loki’s face, and gave him a quick wink.  He blushed guiltily, and she grinned and walked away.  His blush deepened when Loki brought his fork to his mouth and opened his lips to take in a single cherry and a bit of crust. 

“Do you live there?” Steve managed to say.  He dug into his second piece in order to keep his eyes off Loki’s face for one moment, very aware he was staring.  

“Occasionally,” Loki said, “When I am not travelling.”

 “What brings you to the US?”

“I am meeting with various people who can further my business interests,” he said, his gaze intent on Steve’s face.  Steve suddenly realized he hadn’t been the only one who was staring. 

“What kind of business?”

Loki paused a second, his gaze slightly abstracted as if he were searching for a word in English.  Then, eyes bright, he offered a tiny smile. “Building, primarily.”

“What kind of building?”  Steve told himself to shut up, to stop asking so many questions; this was supposed to be a conversation, not an interrogation.  But he was seized with the urge to know more about this man, this stranger, who might walk away minutes from now and disappear back into the city.

Again, the distanced look, again a mysterious smile flickered across his face and vanished.  “Government and commercial structures, residences.” 

“So you’re not one of those fellows with a tower with his name on it?”

Loki chuckled, a corner of his mouth turning up in an ironic smile.  “No, you will not find my name on any buildings.  You might call what I do – “ he gave Steve a complicated smile  “ – urban renewal.  I specialize in rebuilding areas devastated by wars.”

Steve’s eyes lit up.  “Ah!  Where are you working now?  The Middle East?”

“My works takes me to various places.  You might call this a global concern.”

And Steve, thinking of the numerous and confusing conflicts he saw on the news shows which ran continually on television, nodded in understanding.  “It’s a big job.  I’d love to learn more.”  He shut his mouth before he could add, _maybe I can help_.  Because as plain Steve Rogers he could hardly offer the resources of Captain America.  But as Captain America…

Loki hummed and gave him a seductive smile, and abruptly Steve forgot global concerns.  “How long,”  Steve coughed, trying to cover up the nervousness in his voice.  “How long are you going to be in New York?”

“I do not know yet.  My business requires frequent travel.”

“Maybe…”  Steve began and stopped, his face heating at his forwardness.  His _planned_ forwardness. 

This wasn’t like him.  He almost felt drunk by this man’s presence – except for the fact that all he’d been drinking was Coca Cola and coffee.  Besides, he couldn’t get drunk anyway.  Still, the blood fizzed in his veins and the tug in his groin had grown stronger.   So he said it, wondering at himself even as the words left his mouth.  “Are you busy this afternoon?”

Mr. Friggajarson – what kind of name was that anyway?  Scandinavian?   He hadn’t actually said he was from Norway.  Mr. Friggajarson’s lips curved up, showing teeth.  He extended his hand so that long fingers almost – but not quite – brushed Steve’s hand, leaving a fraction of an inch of scuffed table between them.  “No,” he said.  “I am not.”

“Then…” Steve was sure he was beet red – and suddenly remembered his mother’s warnings about ‘strange men’.

But Steve had known for a long time he was a ‘strange man’.  And maybe now was the time to finally find out what that meant.  He had never – not before the serum.  And not after.  After, there was too much to do without doing things he shouldn’t.  And before – who would have wanted him?

And what could happen anyway?  Even if Mr. Friggajarson – Loki – wasn’t what he seemed; even if this was some kind of robbery or con or planned violence – he was Captain America, after all. 

“…Would you like to come with me to my apartment?” Steve asked.

Loki’s smile was a seductive promise.  “I would,” he said, and rose.  Steve tossed money at the table and barely remembered to say “thank you” and “goodbye” to Edie before he was out the door.  But he didn’t miss the grin she gave him, and was blushing again as he stepped outside.

 


	3. Chapter Two

The walk to the subway station was a blur.  Electricity seemed to dance along his skin.  He was intensely aware of the way Loki’s long strides easily matched his own as they walked quickly along the sidewalks.  He was aware of the way Loki looked around them on the subway, again with that air of discovering something new.  He probably just cabbed it while he was in town, or had a private car service, Steve had thought.  Steve lost himself in looking at the other man, the midnight black of his hair, so dark it almost swallowed the light.  The pale, smooth-textured skin.  The long graceful fingers, resting casually on the other man’s thighs.  Those long legs, hidden beneath the fine cloth of his trousers. 

Steve looked up and found that intense gaze turned back to him, Loki’s eyes full of that strange familiarity, as if they already knew each other well.  Full of promise.  One of Loki’s lips quirked up and Steve gave him  a wide smile.  He was aware of his heart racing, experiencing the feeling of breathlessness in a way he hadn’t since he’d been a child and was struggling with asthma.  His heart pounded too hard and too fast, like it had when he was a kid, racing inside his chest so fast he felt lightheaded. 

But this wasn’t a struggle for survival.  It was something else entirely.  It was something wonderful.  To touch another man, to be touched by another man.  This was going to happen.  His fantasies were about to become real.

The subway doors slid open and he led Loki out through the crush of people, up to the street, and along three blocks to his apartment building.  Then up the stairs.

Hands shaking slightly, Steve fumbled the keys out of his pocket and managed to unlock the door without dropping them.  He waved Loki into the cool dimness of his apartment, his sanctuary from the 21st century, and was abruptly self-conscious at how anachronistic it was.

Loki paused several feet inside, looking around with curiosity at Steve’s collection of history and political books and classic novels, the plain cups and bowls on his shelves, his record player and the shelves full of record albums beside it.  Loki pulled out one album and opened it, fingering the sleeves holding four 78 rpm records inside. 

“What are these?”  Loki asked.

“It’s an… old-fashioned way of listening to music,” Steve explained.

Loki closed the album, which had the name _Ella Fitzgerald_ displayed on the cover, and handed it to him.  “Show me.”

Steve turned on the player, opened the album, chose a record and placed it on the spindle.  Soon, Ella’s expressive voice singing "(If You Can't Sing It) You'll Have to Swing It” filled the air, gorgeous even through the hiss and scratch of the needle as it travelled along the black surface of the disk. 

Loki listened attentively, and a slow, pleased smile crossed his face.  “So creative,” he whispered, almost inaudibly.  Steve moved to join him, his footsteps loud on the hardwood floors.  Loki had turned his attention to the pictures on his walls.  “You don’t have any of your own work up,” he observed. “Why not?”

“I like to draw them.  I don’t need to look at them.  There are other things to look at.”

Loki turned to face him, and for a moment Steve felt that same curious, appraising gaze he had noticed before back in those green eyes.  Something speculative.  And yet –

There was heat there too, as that gaze swept his body and came back to focus on his face.  Steve looked over that long, elegant form – hard, aching, needing –

Afraid.  The man was so beautiful - what had he been thinking of? Steve screamed to himself.  This sophisticated man, this beautiful man, couldn’t possibly want _him_ – he was too naïve, too awkward, too –

too weak too skinny –

He clenched his fists and suddenly felt the strength in his body as if something alien; as if the serum had wedged his mind into a perfect body where it didn’t actually belong.

Then Loki was in front of him, standing so close that with a shock of surprise Steve was forced to look up.  Tilting his head back to look at people was so familiar, so much of who he had been – before.  Now, few men were as tall as he was, much less taller, as this deceptively thin man was, reminding him forcefully of what it had felt like to be smaller, lesser.  Loki smiled, dragging his lower lip slowly down his teeth, then touching his tongue briefly to his lower lip before pulling it back in his mouth.  Steve opened his own lips by instinct and Loki took hold of Steve’s shoulders and claimed his mouth with a rough hunger.  Steve struggled for breath, a sudden gut-deep fear of – _I can’t breathe!_ coming back from childhood -

But his body wanted this and his arms knew what to do – they enclosed Loki, his hands pulling the other man into a hard embrace tight against his body.  His mouth knew what to do; it opened wider.  Loki’s tongue invaded his mouth, and Steve found himself meeting that kiss with a rough need of his own.  Reaching up, he grasped the back of Loki’s neck, and pushed his fingers up through the collar-length hair, curling the tips to press against the other man’s scalp.

Loki’s hands – one ruffled through the shortness of Steve’s hair, the other dug down his back, not even pausing at his waistline, long fingers finding, kneading a buttock.  He jerked against the other man, cock already hard, _this is really happening_ , and _I shouldn’t_ and _I *need* this so much!_

He reached down, pressed one hand against the one fondling him, then pulled it away, lacing his fingers through long ones.  Loki gave him a questioning look.

“Bedroom,” he said hoarsely, and led him there, still half disbelieving that this was real, this was about to happen, this was no fantasy indulged in bed alone at night.

This was real.

The curtains were drawn, the light filtering through their dark fabric left his bedroom awash with shadows.  He didn’t turn on a light.  Once he got past the doorway and was confronted with the reality of his bed he stopped and turned back to Loki, unsure of himself.

A complicated smile lit Loki’s mouth – yes, there was lust there – but what else?  Those green eyes were appraising, approving, and very interested.

Steve stood still.  Loki stepped close, placed a hand behind Steve’s neck and leaned forward, placing teasing kisses on his forehead, cheekbones, lips.

Then pulled back even as Steve reached out to pull him close.

Long-fingered hands unknotted a tie.  Swift and graceful, Loki removed his coat and vest and set them on a chair.  Steve followed the progress of those hands as they unbuttoned a shirt that probably cost a fortune, then removed it.

He gave Steve an encouraging look, and Steve reached reluctantly to his own shirt, seized with the feeling that when he undressed he would be his old self again, and all of the strength and power of his new body would be gone, the serum failed, the experiment over.

One button.  Two.  Steve stopped to watch, postponing the moment he’d reveal himself.  Steve would not have thought anyone could be so graceful removing their shoes, but Loki removed his footwear almost too quickly for Steve to see.  Loki’s hands moved to his belt.  Removed it.  Removed his trousers as well.

He wasn’t wearing anything underneath.

Steve sucked in a breath.  Loki’s body was as pale and perfect as a Greek marble statue, with the long taut muscles of a dancer or swimmer.  He was hard, and, Steve noticed immediately, uncut.  Just like him.  He thought most men were circumcised these days, but maybe it was different in Europe.

Loki’s gaze swept him from foot to head, and Steve, suddenly embarrassed that he was still standing there fully clothed, reached again to unbutton his shirt.  Loki closed the space between them, and reached for the last remaining button.  Steve let him undo it, and sucked in a breath as startlingly cool fingers crept inside the fabric, ghosting along his ribs, sliding around to his back, then going lower.  The thin cloth of his shirt rippled against his skin as those fingers explored further beneath the fabric, finally settling at his waist, tugging lightly at the waistband of his jeans.

Steve hastily and gracelessly removed the rest of his clothing.  Loki’s gaze followed his every move.  Steve was so hard he was already leaking, his cockhead straining out from the foreskin, balls heavy, aching.  All these years he’d tried not to look at strong male bodies, not look at muscled chests, thighs, strong arms, not look at their penises – all that desire he’d repressed and denied for years – all of it suddenly focused in a blaze of utter want for this one man. 

“You are magnificent,” Loki breathed.  His pupils were huge, his mouth curved into a delighted smile.  Cool fingers traced the length of Steve’s cock, then that hand closed around him.

Sobbing, he came instantly, spilling over that hand, knees buckling.  Strong arms lifted him to his feet, pressed him close.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  “Sorry,” he gasped.  “Sorry.”  He’d wound his arms around the other man, and was intently aware of that bare skin pressed close to him, finely textured, so smooth and cool, feeling almost like ceramic and not skin at all.  There was a type of forest smell to that skin, something deep and heady and full of mystery.  Fingers combed through Steve’s short hair.  He opened his eyes.  Loki’s face was so close he saw his chin at first.  He tilted his head back to look at him properly.

Loki was watching him with surprise.  “You cannot be innocent,” Loki breathed.

Steve, abashed, looked down.   “I’m afraid I am.”

He felt the brush of fingers under his chin and looked up.  He didn’t know what to expect on Loki’s face.  He had certainly not expected awe.

A shift in their positions made him suddenly aware of hardness pressing against his softened penis.  He acted before he thought, and closed his fingers around the hard shaft.  Loki took in a sharp breath and dug his fingers into Steve’s sides.  Steve slid his hand down Loki’s cock, up, then gently eased the foreskin further down and pressed his thumb against the head, spreading the moisture there in a small circle.  Loki pressed his fingers in harder, briefly startling Steve with the surprisingly painful strength of his grip, but the heat, the hardness of the cock in his hand claimed his attention, and he stroked and pulled exactly the way he liked it best.  Loki made a strangled sound, and Steve looked up.  Loki’s eyes were almost closed, just a glimpse of green iris showing beneath his ink-dark lashes.   Steve suddenly was achingly hard again.  He fumbled and grasped and held their cocks together.  He pushed, rubbed, blazing pleasure so intense so enormous that it blotted everything else out, and then he was coming again an instant before Loki spilled over his hand.

They finally made it to the bed, only to collapse on it side by side.  Steve caressed Loki’s arm, his side, “That was wonderful,” he breathed.  “Thank you.”

His eyes were nearly closed when he felt Loki’s cool lips briefly brush against his own.  An instant later, he was asleep.

 


	4. Chapter Three

Loki gazed at the pure perfection of Steve Roger’s body.  The Midgardian was lying beside him, dozing in the dimness of his bedroom.   Loki wondered again - why did this Warrior live such a humble life?  There was nothing about his abode, about his choice of surroundings, which proclaimed him for what Loki knew him to be:  one of Midgard’s mighty warriors.  And yet he chose to live in obscurity.  Was it some requirement, some Midgardian custom, that he live this way as if he were some ordinary warrior still in training and expected to live a simple life until he came into his own?  Was that why he had known no man before?  There were strange customs in certain select societies on other realms, customs requiring abstention from pleasures of the flesh.  Was Steve Rogers one such as these?

He thought of how the one called Iron Man lived his life, much like the Warriors of Asgard, always strutting about where he might be seen and bragging of his prowess.  And yet he knew Steve Rogers was the commander of the warrior band called The Avengers.  So, Steve Rogers’s decision to live simply was not a Midgardian custom then, which made his choice even more mysterious.

Steve shifted, made a small sound and blinked.  He smiled into Loki’s watching eyes and sat up.  “I’m starved.”

Loki smiled at the simple direct statement.  “I, too, am hungry.” 

“Do you like Italian food?”  Steve was already on his feet, heading to the bathroom.  He threw over his shoulder, “I know a great place on Arthur Avenue where the food is just like I remember it as a kid.”

“’Italian is fine,” Loki said.  He knew Italy was one of this realm’s minor kingdoms.  Perhaps their cuisine would be at least palatable.

 

Loki was displeased when Steve once more led them underground.  Unpleasant as they were, dwarven tunnels were more aesthetically pleasing than the smelly passageways Midgardians traversed down to the harshly lit platforms where they met their ‘trains’, their rough unfinished textures more interesting to look at than these blank walls.

Bilgesnipe smelled better than the crowd of mortals he was forced to be in contact with, and their roars far more pleasing than the raucous noise of the people pressed offensively tight around him and the screech of the metal rails during the train’s fast approach.

Everywhere there were merchants and artisans and beggars and thieves.  But none of the lords of this realm; they were on the surface above, being conveyed to their destinations by the drivers of their vehicles which, Loki knew from experience, were a much more pleasant way to travel than this.

The metal train shrieked to a halt directly in front of them.  Doors opened.  People spilled out, and the crowd around them pushed in, Steve grabbing Loki’s hand to keep them together.  There was no place to sit and so they stood holding on to metal bars.  Steve tried to keep up a conversation against the din, and though Loki could hear him perfectly plainly and responded easily to his words, they were simple comments on the route they were taking, and how many “stops” they needed to make before reaching their destination.

Steve kept looking at him with an expression of pleasure and wonder.  He was truly beautiful, Loki thought.  As fair as Thor, but his guileless blue eyes held nothing of arrogance and when they looked at him Loki realized with pleasure he was truly _seen._

How fascinating.  As he had gone exploring Midgard, he had left Steve Rogers to the last, as if he were a special gift to himself.  He had wandered around their continents, exploring their secret places of magic, such as the one he had found in Tromsø, where they, like Thor’s woman, had discovered the first secrets of creating a Bifrost.  There were many other such places, some beneath arid desert surfaces, some in mountains, some high in fortified towers in great cities, and all of them filled with Midgardian men and women busily learning, creating, doing, achieving, striving.

They had such a chaotic society – little kings here and there all around their realm, with multiple alliances, multiple conflicts, multiple customs.  Peculiar.  Exhilarating!  Fascinating in the complexity they achieved in such short lives. 

Steve was asking him what his favorite foods were, and he mentioned pinnekjøtt, wittenberger, and brunost, foods he had tried in Tromsø.  Steve had blinked, then asked if Loki would prefer another restaurant instead.  Loki assured him that ‘Italian’ was fine and Steve smiled.  Steve’s face was so mobile; his expressions so utterly different than Thor’s.  Perhaps he should have sought him out first, rather than waiting so long to become acquainted with him.

In all his wanderings around Midgard, the memory of finding this man in the ice had stayed with him.  He had always known he would return to find him one day.   But Midgard was full of strange and unusual beings, beings which might be of use to him some day should he find it advisable to make Midgard an ally.  Beings called mutants, born to their power.  Others, who, by accident or design, had achieved abilities above the norm for their species. 

Even among his own strange band, Steve stood out.  The man in the metal suit – Anthony Stark – him, he understood very well.  A king in his own right, but ruler of a kingdom of commerce and alliances that crossed through all this realm’s other petty kingdoms, and a hero also, ready to go into combat for his realm.  Sam Wilson, master of the air.  Clint Barton, the archer, master of a combat technique Asgardians would call cowardly, hailed as a hero here.  The shield maiden Natasha Romanov, as skilled with honeyed words as she was with her fluid fighting techniques.  Pietro Maximoff, magically swift of foot, again going into battle in ways Asgard would condemn. 

And the sorceress, Wanda Maximoff, easily the most powerful of them all, and the one he would need to be the most careful with, should he decide to truly seek their alliance.

But Steve –

He understood arrogance.  He understood deception.  He understood the motivations of pride and pain and loss.

He did not understand Steve.

Twice the train juddered to a halt, people pushed out, people shoved inside, and it took off with a roar and a jerk.  The clattering, clanking subway car came to a third stop.  Steve nodded and Loki followed him out, frowning at the acrid stink trapped in the humid underground station.  Steve led him through the crowd and up a strange contraption consisting of moving metal stairs.  Oddly, there were people scattered here and there playing musical instruments with headgear lying on the stained pavement in front of them.

Steve led him through yet one more tunnel to yet one more platform already crowded with waiting passengers.  In an instant they were hemmed in on both sides.  A train screamed to a halt on the opposite side and spilled out people who swarmed up nearby stairs.  “Ours will be along in a minute,” Steve said, and yes, Loki could hear the rattle and thunder of its approach in the dark distance. 

Behind them, Loki heard a most irritating mumbling and singing, and turned partway just in time to see a filthy unshaven man reeking of ale stumble and fall against the woman to Steve’s left.  She shrieked and backed up as he flailed.  She toppled off the platform; nearby people shouted –

And Steve jumped onto the tracks, the train itself visible and fast approaching.

Steve held up the woman, her head bloody, her body limp.  Grasping hands reached to pull her up.  But the train was almost upon Steve.  Loki jumped down beside Steve, ready to bend reality and take them both to safety.  Startled, Steve grabbed him and before Loki could finish the last gesture of his spell had hauled them both to safety.  The babbling crowd was pointing their devices to capture their images.

Irritated with Steve’s carelessness about his own safety, Loki muttered a quick spell to blind those mechanical eyes.  The news would be full of the mystery of how several dozen cell phones and the subway security cameras failed simultaneously, and conspiracy theories would spread through the internet for years to come.

Midgardian security people had arrived, and Loki quickly led Steve through the press, doing a small casting to bend light around them so that none noticed their exit.

 

The dining hall Steve led him to was tiny and dim, a place for peasants to eat, not the fine feasting hall appropriate for such an important Warrior.  It was, however, full of pleasant smells.  And, there was appropriate behavior.  They were greeted respectfully at the door and the servant showed them to a square table covered with a white cloth with a tiny candle flickering in the center.  Loki took his place in a dark wooden chair, the back made of curving pieces of wood which formed a simple pattern, the legs also slightly bent.  It was set on a white tiled floor.  Loki glanced around.  Another example of Midgardian creative exuberance was on display as there was a multitude of bottles of different types of alcohol displayed on one wall.  Most of the simple wooden stools by a long wooden bar were occupied by people sitting in silence or chatting with each other.

Steve sat down across from him and Loki noticed how the light the candle cast made a small circle, enough for those seated there, while acting as a subtle boundary against the rest of the room.

Steve had finally stopped looking over his shoulder, something he had been doing since their exit from the subway. 

“You look like a man convinced he’s being followed by an enemy,” Loki commented.

Steve shrugged and smiled.  “I can’t believe no one followed us from the subway – this is the sort of thing that brings reporters out in droves.”

Loki hummed, but the approach of a servant spared him the need of saying anything further on this subject.  The man provided lists of the foods and wines to be had, and announced particular dishes featured on this day.  Yet another servant unobtrusively brought glasses of plain water.

“I don’t know much about wine,” Steve said, “So I’ll leave that up to you.”  Now that he no longer feared pursuit, he focused his attention completely on Loki, watching him with an expression of surprised happiness.  Loki returned the smile automatically, his mind busily working.  The spell had guaranteed that, should the Warrior ever awake and should their paths cross again, Steve would welcome him.  He had not expected that Steve would _want_ him.  Perhaps his own desire for this man had invaded his spell, perhaps something after all had been transmitted by his kiss.

Loki picked up the wine list.  There were a variety of wines to be had.  Loki observed the kinds favored by those at other tables, and ordered a bottle of one of these. 

“What would you like?” Steve looked up from the menu.

“Order what you favor and surprise me,” Loki said, his eyes promising a reward.

Steve chose several items.  The servant, who clearly knew him, did not seem surprised at the quantity of food ordered, though he did seem surprised by Loki’s presence.  He made no comment when Steve said they would ‘split’ the ‘main dishes’ and asked for an extra plate.

“You didn’t even think of your own safety when you rescued that woman,” Loki said slowly, eyes narrowed.  “You just took action.” 

Steve looked surprised.  “So did you.”

“But I know you - and you didn’t know her.  You just acted.”  Loki paused, again struck by how little he understood this Midgardian.  “You are a true hero.”

Steve gave him a startled look.  “There are heroes everywhere.”

Loki gave him an ironic smile, “Not nearly as many as you think.”

Steve leaned forward.  “The work you do - you don’t know many of the people you help, do you?” 

_What I do is for the greater glory of Jotunheim, that I may have a realm worthy of one born to be a king, and for the future downfall of Asgard._   He gave a minute shake of his head. 

“But you still do it.”  Then he frowned.  “You’re not – involved with something like Halliburton, are you?”

Loki made a mental note to look up that name on their internet.  He said, “No, I am not.”

Steve relaxed and gave him a big smile.  Steve’s smiles were amazing – and the memory of eagerness of Steve’s inexperienced desire brought heat to his groin.  He leaned forward slightly and gave Steve a seductive smile, and saw Steve’s pupils enlarge.  Their wine arrived, then, and they settled back in their chairs, an unspoken promise in the air between them.

The wine was followed with a plate of meats and cheeses and vegetables, bowls of green leaves and other vegetation covered with a pale sauce, and sharp-tasting savory bread.  The taste of the wine was complicated but sour, and he did not finish his glass.  Amused, he noticed Midgardians did not hurl glasses to the floor and demand “another!” 

Loki was intrigued by the variety of flavors and textures, utterly different from other foods he had tried during his recent days here.  He thought once again how clever Midgardians were in every way.  Everywhere, bursts of creativity – in art, music, cuisine – they were all so busy, all the time.  It must be their short lifespans, Loki reflected.  Perhaps, because they had so little time some of them made far more use of their lives than most Asgardians, who were content to spend centuries always doing the same things,  disdaining the customs of other realms.  His lips pulled back in a speculative smile.  With Midgardian creativity and Jötnar might, what could he not do?

Steve was talking again, asking how he’d gotten involved in this type of work, and Loki spun a quick tale, with just enough cues for Steve to start talking again.

More food arrived.  “I always like spaghetti,” Steve explained.  The bright red sauce was tangy and full of rich meat, and the grain, cooked into a tangle of long thin wormlike pieces – was surprisingly edible.  Something called a ‘wild mushroom risotto’ arrived, as well, which Loki found quite enjoyable.

Steve was still talking, bright eyed and enthusiastic.  He had made a connection with Loki’s supposed work and something called the ‘Marshall Plan’ and was describing in detail all the good this ‘plan’ had done after a war which, Loki gathered, had involved most of the kingdoms of this entire realm. 

As he spoke, more dishes more arrived.  Loki only sampled the third and fourth dishes, which were called ‘eggplant parmigiana’ and ‘lasagna’, while Steve ate all the rest.  Loki noted Steve’s prodigious appetite with interest; realizing instantly that the spell which had altered his form and gave him his strength and power required much food to fuel it.

“You know what surprises me?” Steve said, after finishing the lasagna.  “How quickly we became friends with the Germans and the Japanese.  I – I’ve become quite a history buff regarding this particular era.  As you’ve probably guessed.”  He offered Loki a smile.  “And In the histories I’ve read – we were on good terms with them so quickly.  More than good terms.  There are so many places where these wars and enmities go on generation after generation, but we were allies again less than a generation later.”  He shook his head.  “Germany and the US at peace – after two world wars and so many millions dead.  That gives me hope that all these other conflicts can end.  Some day.”

Loki became aware he was staring at Steve in disbelief and softened his expression.  “I – have seen much of these types of enmities; hatreds that last for centuries.”

“Don’t you find in your work people are willing to work together?”

“Not at first.  No.”

“But people can change.  I’ve seen it – the whole world has seen it.  Just because it’s hard is no reason to give up.”  He stopped and met Loki’s gaze.  A puzzled expression crossed his face.  “What?”

“I’ve never known anyone like you.”

“Like me?  How?”

“So…”  - _naïve – innocent –_ “idealistic.”

Steve blinked.  “You’d have to be idealistic yourself, to do the sort of work you do.  You must have met many idealistic people, people who want to change the world for the better.”

Loki shook his head.  “I have never met one like you.  You are a man of honor, Steve Rogers.  Until I met you I had believed none such existed.”

“I have always wanted to do the right thing,” Steve said simply.  “I’d like to believe other people want to do the same thing.”

“There is much evil in the world,” Loki said, and fought off a knot of grief and anger.

“Yes, there is.  But we don’t have to surrender to it.  This is why we fight against it.”

For the first time in his life, Loki could think of nothing else to say.  Fortunately, the servant arrived with plates of rolled pastry with a sweet cream filling, and cups of coffee as well. 

Finished with everything, including paying the bill, Steve set his empty cup down.  A smile playing around his lips, he gave Loki a direct promising gaze.  “Would you like to come back to my apartment with me?  Spend the night?’’

“Of course,” Loki said, struggling with unfamiliar surprise.  How strange, to be wanted for himself.  To be wanted, not because he was Asgard’s second son, not for which favors he might grant, not for bragging rights, not for political advantage.

For himself. 

Or rather, the self he presented to this strangely gentle Warrior of Midgard; this hero who spoke of peace the way Thor and the others spoke of war, with conviction and belief.

This person he pretended to be.  One of the best of his lies.

A sudden twist of sentiment and regret threatened to overwhelm him.  He shoved it back, gave the servants a courteous farewell, and followed Steve outside and back down underground.  There was one advantage of these noxious surroundings  - they distracted him from unwelcome thoughts and allowed him to regain his composure again.

 


	5. Chapter Four

They stepped into Steve’s dimly lit apartment.  Steve shut the door behind them, suddenly wishing he’d put in a stock of alcohol of some type, just in case he had guests.  But his apartment was his sanctuary; whenever he met any of his fellow Avengers it was at Stark’s Tower.  And though he now had acquaintances all over the city, it hadn’t occurred to him to be prepared in case he wanted to bring someone home.  It was something he never did.

“Would you like coffee?  Tea?  Coca Cola?  I have the real stuff.  I’m afraid I don’t have any wine or anything harder.”

Loki gave him an amused smile.  “I will try your ‘real’ Coca Cola.”

Steve brought the bottles to his plain blocky kitchen table.  He set down two glasses – it had amused Stark to give him a set emblazoned with the Coca Cola logo – and then poured.  He lifted his glass in a toast.  “To your success,” he said.  Loki’s face went expressionless for a bare instant, then surprised, then urbane.  They clinked their glasses.

Loki took one sip, then set his glass down and rested his hands on the table.  “You are nothing like I thought you’d be.  When we met in the park.”

Steve stiffened, feeling suddenly cold and defensive.  “What do you mean?”

“You are so beautiful.  And your artistry is such that many would long to own one of your drawings.  You are also strong and heroic.  But I thought you would be… Forgive me if I say this incorrectly.”

“You haven’t said anything incorrectly so far,” Steve said, and could hear an edge in his voice.

“Men of such beauty and strength and talent often feel they must outshine everyone they meet.  That they must cast a very large shadow so that the world sees only them.”

So many emotions crossed Loki’s face so quickly that Steve could only interpret a few.  Resentment.  And longing.  And need.

“I wasn’t always strong,” Steve said slowly.  “Not as a child.  I was sickly - so weak that anyone could beat me.”

Loki’s gaze sharpened.  “And did they?  Beat you?”

“Oh, yes.”  Memories of every alley and empty lot he’d been attacked in flashed rapidly through Steve’s mind.

“Because you were smaller and could not fight?” Loki was watching him intently, something dark and dangerous in his eyes.

“Oh, I fought.  It didn’t do me a bit of good.  But I never gave up.”

“Did you want revenge on those who beat you?”

Steve didn’t hesitate.  “Yes.”

“Did you ever take it?”

“Not on them.  There are bigger bullies in the world.  And I could never stand to watch others bullied.”  Steve was silent for a moment.  “I didn’t want revenge.  I wanted justice.  Because the type of men you described – they don’t understand what it’s like for other people.  They find it easy to step on other people, use them, get rid of them.  Torture them.  Kill them.” The images unreeled in his head, the blood, the gore, the waste, bodies everywhere, tragedy upon tragedy. 

Loki was watching him intently; his hands had curled into fists.  “You have seen much in the way of battle.”

“We had specific targets.  We took out the ones who needed destroying.  But they ruined so much before we could get to them.  And,” his mouth twisted.  “More came in their place.  I’ve only begun to realize how many more.  And they’ve made it much, much easier to kill at a distance, consequences and collateral be damned.”  Loki’s eyes had gone opaque, unreadable.  Steve reached out, rested a hand on Loki’s fist, stroked it gently.  “But you know all that.  You’ve seen the consequences.  You’re doing everything you can to repair the damage that men like those do.  You’re doing good work, Loki.  When I saw you in the park…  I thought you were a rich businessman.  But there was something about you – “  Loki’s eyes focused on him again; his hand twitched beneath Steve’s touch. 

“I don’t know,” Steve went on.  “ Anybody else who dressed like you I’d wonder if maybe he was one of those guys who plays the stock market or puts people out of business.  One of those guys who ruins people’s lives and doesn’t care.”  Steve heard the anger in his voice as memories filled him about how hard everything had been, for his mother, for so many, for him, nearly starving after the Crash.  For a moment he could see it again, the Hooverville on Central Park’s Great Lawn as it was in the 30s, covered with a shantytown filled with destitute families.  And there were still far too many homeless in this city today.

He pulled himself back to the present and squeezed Loki’s hand gently.  “When you explained what you did – well, appearances can be deceiving.  Sorry.  I try not to judge a book by its cover.  And anyway, I knew you weren’t one of those guys.  I could just tell.”

Again, that strange blankness crossed Loki’s face.  “Appearances _can_ be deceiving,” Loki said, in a surprisingly bleak tone.  Then he focused back on Steve’s face.

Steve was suddenly aware that he’d gone off track and said some insulting things.  “Sorry,” he said again.  “And – I’d really like to help you.  Somehow.  I – “ No.  He couldn’t say it.  Couldn’t reveal who he was.  Not to someone he’d just met, even though his instincts told him he could trust Loki.  He gave Loki a rueful smile.  “Well, if you ever need an artist for publicity pieces and you think I’m good enough, let me know.”

The corners of Loki’s lips turned up.  “Oh, you are good enough.”

Steve shifted uneasily at the compliment, but before he could respond Loki stood.  Steve did as well.

Loki glanced in the direction of the bedroom, then back at Steve.  “Shall we…?”

“Yes,” Steve said, and followed him in.

He wasn’t nearly as hesitant in undressing this time.  Loki still managed to be naked a fraction of a second before he was.  Silently, they moved together, Steve still astonished at the feeling of another naked male body pressed close to his.  Loki reached out, skimmed his hands down Steve’s sides.  Steve gasped.  His skin felt hot and damp, every glancing touch sending fire to his groin.  Loki moved closer, strong hands sliding around Steve’s back, one palm pressed against a shoulder blade, another curled at his waist, and the impact of those fingers against his skin felt like his skin was alight.  He wound his arms around Loki’s back, exploring his smooth cool skin.  Loki leaned down until their foreheads touched.  His tongue flickered out, leaving a wet tracery over Steve’s lips.  Steve gasped and arched against Loki.  He opened his mouth, and Loki thrust his tongue inside, exploring, as Steve helplessly rubbed against him.

Breathless, they pulled away a long minute later.  Loki’s pupils were enormous, barely a rim of green iris visible.  Steve caught him and brought their mouths together again for another deep wet kiss, his other hand reaching for Loki’s cock.

Loki pulled away and took one step back.  “What?” Steve asked breathlessly.

“What would you like?” Loki asked, heated gaze raking Steve’s body, pausing at his groin.

“Anything,” Steve said, the imprint of Loki’s hands and lips on his skin still tingling as if he were still being touched.

A filthy smile curved Loki’s lips.  “Tell me what you want,” he said, and his voice was a purr.

“I have always wondered,” Steve said, surprised at how low his voice had gone, “what it would be like.  To be taken,” he added, feeling a trace of embarrassment.

Loki’s eyes widened in surprise, then filled with heat.  He took one step forward until their bodies touched again and Steve was forced to look up into Loki’s eyes.  Steve heard himself make a pathetic sound as the other man’s cool hand brushed his cock, fingers teasing at the very tip then gently pushing his foreskin back until the palm of his hand met the head.  Steve shuddered violently as he pushed into that hand, pleasure arcing through his body.  “Are you sure?” Loki breathed as he took his hand away.  “Would you like to fuck me instead?”

Steve was instantly so hard it hurt.  Loki made a wordless murmur, and trailed one finger teasingly up his length.  Pleasure jolted through him, and he heard himself make a helpless sound he was sure he’d never uttered before.  Loki was grinning, looking at him hotly.  “Would you…?”

_No.  No, I can’t._   Steve grabbed for sanity.  He couldn’t take the chance.  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Loki laughed.  “There is no need to worry about that.”

 “You don’t understand.”  Steve tried to find some way to convey his fear of losing control of his own strength and hurting Loki without saying too much.  But there was no way to say it, not now when he felt barely capable of talking.  “I want you – to fuck me.  Yes.” Steve strengthened his voice. “I trust you.”  And wondered, for a brief instant, at the odd expression that momentarily darkened Loki’s gaze.

Then Loki was smiling again.  He guided Steve to the bed, urging him to lie on his back, and positioned himself between Steve’s legs.  Loki’s cock, hard and flushed a rosy color, bobbed before his taut belly, tantalizingly near Steve’s erection.

He suddenly thought, _condom, men need condoms with other men now, how strange –_ and gasped out the word, “Condom.”

Loki paused, then laughed, then said, “No.”

Steve thought of protesting – but those green eyes held a message of, _Don’t be concerned_ and _it doesn’t matter to us,_ and then grunted in astonished pleasure as one slick hand grasped his cock and pulled up, down,  – _how did that happen – where did he get that? - did he have a jar of Vaseline in his pocket? when did he take it out?_  – but the thought disappeared as that hand trailed fire around his cock.

Then Loki took his own cock in his hand.  Steve watched, mesmerized, as Loki spread the slick substance from tip to root and back again, easing the foreskin back.  Loki’s mouth had dropped slightly open, his eyes had fluttered half-shut.  Then he took his hand away, and Steve could see how Loki’s breath had quickened. 

With a quick motion, Loki picked up Steve’s legs and pushed them back.  Steve felt suddenly, ridiculously exposed.  His belly knotted in sudden fear and he took three long deep breaths.  He wanted this; what was he afraid of anyway?  Being hurt?  

Loki held his gaze as he palmed Steve’s cock.  Steve groaned as Loki began stroking slowly, teasingly slow.  The image of what they must look like inspired him to bring his arms up to hold his legs in place, to allow Loki access.

He yelled when Loki trailed his hand over his balls, and sucked in a breath when Loki found his opening and pushed one slick finger inside.  Then, a second, then quickly a third, and he felt his body pressing against the intrusion even as his cock jerked at the sensation.  He heard himself groan again and realized he was saying, “Please.”

Loki hummed, withdrew his fingers, and there it was, that long cock, teasing his entrance for a moment.  Then Loki pushed his way slowly inside, and Steve moaned at the burn, the pain of being split open, feeling the slide of every inch as Loki relentlessly impaled him.  Loki moved back, then forward, a tiny thrust, and a burst of pleasure shot through him.  Loki’s pale face hovered over Steve’s as he pulled back then thrust again, harder, hitting something deep inside Steve that shot sparks through his body.  He was grabbing at Loki’s arms, his back, digging his fingers into hard muscle, keening with pleasure at the slide of Loki’s belly against his cock, sweat bathing both of their bodies.  Loki, his eyes rapt with pleasure, curved his mouth in a delighted smile.  Loki pulled back with a long slow drag, then thrust again, again, each demanding thrust pushing Steve further back on the bed.  Steve was holding onto Loki’s back so tightly his fingers felt bone but he could not let go, made mindless by the slip and hitch and slide of their sweat-soaked bodies, by Loki’s cock hitting that place inside him every time.  Steve was pushing back, shoving against Loki’s cock, getting Loki inside him so deeply, so hugely, he felt he felt he was being broken and remade. 

Loki began thrusting even harder, eyes closed, lips parted.  Then one cool hand snaked between their bodies and wrapped around Steve’s cock and he was coming, coming so hard his vision whited out, the huge hard length in him jerking too, and he could feel the spill deep within, a sudden shudder wracking the other man’s body as Loki gasped out his pleasure and finally became still.

A moment later he pulled his softened cock out of Steve’s body and rolled to the side, where he lay with his eyes half-open.  Steve was still breathing hard, mind and body still in shock by what he had just let happen – what he’d asked to have happen.  He rolled on his side to face Loki and trailed the backs of his fingers across Loki’s face, the other man’s skin still oddly cool.

“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Steve said, suddenly remembering how hard he’d held the other man.

Loki’s eyes widened in surprise. “No.”  Steve still looked, but if there were any bruises on Loki’s skin the dim light concealed them.  “Did I you?”

Steve didn’t hesitate.  “That was amazing” and delight brightened Loki’s eyes.  Steve inched closer and pressed a chaste kiss to Loki’s mouth.  Loki reached over, grasped Steve by the back of the neck and ran his fingers up through Steve’s hair.  Steve shivered at the sensation.  Loki returned the kiss, on Steve’s lips, then his forehead, then drew back and settled his arm around Steve’s side.

Steve allowed the sense of delicious well-being draw him towards sleep, “Why do I feel as if I have known you all my life?” he murmured, just as his eyes went shut.

Loki hummed noncommittally and said nothing at all.

 

The Warrior was asleep.  Loki, lying on his side, spent long moments looking at the fine perfection of the bones of his face, of the golden eyelashes, the golden hair.   He’d been surprised and shocked at the Warrior’s offer to make himself argr for Loki.  But perhaps this was customary for Midgardians, to take either role in mating.

He was beginning to understand how little he knew.  How much there was to learn here.

For a moment he was back in the Vault, confronting the man he thought was his father.  Those bitter bitter words.    _I thought we could unit our kingdoms one day.  Bring about an alliance.  Bring about a permanent peace.   Through you._

Steve’s face looked innocent and untouched in sleep.  Steve’s sketchbook was propped open to the drawing he had made of Loki.  Loki studied it again, not recognizing himself in the likeness there.  There was a softness to the mouth he knew he did not possess.  There was a pain in those eyes which he denied.  Where was his rage?  His guile?

_You are unlike any Asgardian I know.  Are other Midgardians like you, so willing to do other than what their roles call them to?  But here I am, making you a tool for my purposes, thinking you a weapon to use, looking into how to recreate the spell that created you, looking for a way to make an army of your kind, instead of…_

_Stolen relic._

The stab of pain that knifed through him at the thought was breathtaking in its enormity.  He shoved it aside.  He stopped the thought.  He allowed another.

_It is time to change plans._

He regarded Steve for one moment longer.  And thought of the way Steve looked at him.  Fully focused intent, _listening_ to what Loki had to say.  He had grasped for it, wanted it as he had never wanted food or drink or sustenance of any other kind.

What Steve had seen was a lie. 

That hard truth twisted inside him.  He hated the regret he felt, wanted to deny the sharp intense certainty that he had made a foolish mistake.

Another foolish mistake.

Steve didn’t know him.  Not at all.  Not any part of him.

It was time to let that illusion go, to tell the truth, at least to himself.

He leaned closer and brushed his lips against Steve’s lips, and with that brief touch withdrew his spell.

Steve started and mumbled in his sleep.  Then settled back again, falling into a deeper sleep.

Loki stood.  Conjured paper and wrote quickly.  Walked out of Steve’s bedroom, opened a rift and walked between the realms, back to Jotunheim’s throne.

 

Steve knew he was alone before he opened his eyes.  The sense of a body next to him, the sound of quiet breathing – gone.  He reached out and rested a hand on where Loki had lain. 

The sheet was cold.

He opened his eyes.  Looked at the bathroom.  He didn’t need to go in there to know it was empty.

Standing, he looked around him.  There was a piece of paper in the middle of his side table.  He hesitated, feeling odd inside, as if some part of him had gone numb and quiet. 

Naked, he padded over to table.  Picked up the paper.

Three short lines, written in angular, spidery handwriting, crossed the page.

_“I am called away on business and will not be back in this city any time soon.  I will remember you.  Fare You Well.  Loki.”_

He let the paper drop.  Realized he’d become accustomed to consistency in his new life.  That the people he knew would be where and when he expected them to be.  Edie, who was usually at the diner when he dropped in.  The waiters at his favorite Italian restaurant.  The other Avengers, of course. 

But he’d stepped out of that life, for a little less than a day.  And like in war, men met one day might be gone the next.  Death.  Injury.  New orders.

In little less than a day he’d been given a gift he’d always been too afraid to reach for before.

He touched the paper, ran his fingers over the signature.  

At least he’d been given a note.  He folded it carefully and put it away in a box in a drawer.

Showering, he touched all the places he’d been touched, and where there should have been bruises there was healthy skin.  Enjoying the prodigal spray of the hot water running over him, the sheer luxury of his new life struck him again.  And, somehow, already the events of the day before had taken on the unreal feel of a fading but still vivid dream.

He got out of the shower, toweled off, and paused to realize that peculiar emotion he was feeling was the sense that a door had been opened in his life.  And now he could step through it.

“Thank you, wherever you are,” he breathed. 

 


	6. Chapter Five

em>Two years later… 

Aliens. 

Books had been Steve’s lifeline during long bouts of childhood illnesses.  He’d devoured hundreds of westerns, war stories, and science fiction.  H.G. Wells and Jules Verne and Edgar Rice Burroughs had been his favorites.  He’d listened to Orson Welles in his “The War of the Worlds” radio broadcast, so convincing that some people, already set on edge by rumors of German attacks, had believed that aliens were actually invading New Jersey.  But aliens were like fairy tales – they weren’t real. 

The real marvels in the world were brought about science.  His existence was proof of that.

But now the skies had opened.  And aliens were fact, not fiction.

The Avengers had fought Doombots and regular robots and monsters from the sea and creatures escaped from mad scientist’s labs, but these aliens pouring out of the sky were of another magnitude entirely.

They’d been briefed about the alien incursion which had happened the previous day, when an alien being, described as being incredibly hideous with hidden eyes, blood red teeth, with two thumbs on each hand, had appeared in a secret SHIELD facility and stolen –

The Tesseract.  Steve had to shove aside his shock that that device still existed to pay attention.

That alien had installed some device on Stark Tower and opened up a –

Steve could barely believe this, and he’d seen a lot.

A tear in the sky.  And strange beings in articulated organic-appearing – ships? – were raining havoc on Manhattan, and he and the rest of the Avengers were fighting back.

Fighting the good fight, being there when he was needed, doing what needed to be done – he’d been filled with righteous energy in once again fighting a battle – no matter how strange – which had no shades of grey.

Fighting against overwhelming odds.

And losing. 

Because they just kept coming.

Calls were coming in from all sides from Steve’s friends relaying positions, numbers, paths of destruction.  Steve shouted commands into the hidden communicator, suddenly finding himself in the middle of a horde of aliens, cut off from sight of the battlefield.  What were they?  Robots?  Creatures in armor?  He lashed out in all directions with shield and fists but there were more and more, climbing over each other’s bodies to get at him. 

Swamping him.  He struggled and fought as hands tore at him and blood spurted and paid no attention to the pain but the sheer weight of them pushed him down struggling to the ground.

A sudden green flash of light blinded him and when he blinked, vision coming back quickly -

They were gone. 

An instant later Stark landed on the concrete beside him with a hard thud. 

“What was that?” Steve demanded.

“A new energy signature – it doesn’t match anything they’ve used so far.”

Looking wildly around, he could find none of the alien beings near him though more were pouring through the streets in every direction.    Stark took to the air again and shot down dozens from the sky, vanishing off into the distance to respond to a call from Hawkeye.

Steve’s heart hammered wildly as he saw another rift had opened – this one closer to the ground – and nearly naked blue giants were leaping out onto the street and confronting the insect creatures which shattered to bits at their touch. 

“What the flying fuck!  What are those things?” he heard Stark shout, and “Who gives a shit?” came Barton, “They’re on our side,” and “For now,” Sam shouted. 

Some of the blue giants formed a bulwark in front of him and surged up the street, scattering shattered mechanical parts in every direction.  He turned and saw others setting up a huge weapon, then aiming and firing it at one of the undulating ships filling the sky.

“Steve!  Look up!”

Natasha’s voice sounded in his ear and he was instantly looking skyward.  At first he didn’t see it but he circled around and there it was – another blue alien standing on the rooftop of one of the lower buildings, clearly directing the others. 

More of the mechanical aliens were pounding down the street.  Two, then more of the blue giants joined him and hurled out vast crystalline projections which shattered the enemy as they advanced.  He hurled his shield and suddenly was back in the fighting again.

 

Jane was watching the television with an avid hunger.  “Look at that!” she said, awestruck, as more and more alien spacecraft poured out of the rift.  “The technology!  So different from what brought you here!”

“Jane, we must go to New York.” Thor had leapt to his feet, hands in tight fists.

She tore her attention away from the TV.  “Thor.  Didn’t you hear?  They just announced they’ve suspended air travel.”

“Then we shall take the car.”

“Thor, that’s three days away!”

Horror etched his face.  “Jane, the Jötnar are attacking!  They nearly destroyed your world a millennia ago!”

“Thor, there’s nothing we can do here!”

He made an inarticulate growl, then lifted his head.  “Heimdall!  Father!  I need to protect this realm!”

But no one answered and shaking with wild energy, he turned his attention back to the TV.  Jane, mesmerized, had barely taken her eyes away from it.

Every muscle in Thor’s body screamed for action, and his mind was wild with frustration, fear, and anger.  He well remembered the tales Father had told of when the Jötnar had last attempted to lay waste to Midgard, and here they were again.  What of Asgard?  Would Father be here soon with his army?

Would this be his chance to prove himself a hero again? 

He watched in increasing bewilderment as the Jötnar froze and shattered the strange insectile creatures which had poured through the first rift in the sky.  The six Avengers also were battling on every front, Iron Man and Hawkeye, Captain America and Black Widow, Quicksilver and Scarlet Witch – all were taking out more of the creatures, Scarlet Witch using her force shield to herd them into traps for Iron Man to destroy with his weapons.

Multiple windows on the screen showed camera angles veering wildly as their operators tried to take in the confusing battlefield, intercut with shots from other angles.  Newscasters tried to keep up with their commentary and utterly failed.  One camera cut up to the top of Stark Tower, to where a strange apparatus was trained at the sky.  Two cameras showed various battle scenes.

And a fourth showed another Jötunn – one exceedingly small in stature – speaking to the Man of Iron in the midst of the remains of numerous insectile corpses.

A second later, and the Man of Iron had swept the Jötunn up and taken to the air.  The camera shook as the operator attempted to follow them, veering off momentarily and then back again as the Man of Iron landed beside the Scarlet Witch, took her in his other arm, and carried both to the top of Stark Tower.

The small Jötunn touched the creature there; the Man of Iron struck him with a mighty blow, and whatever manner of being it had been it exploded in hundreds of frozen pieces.

The camera had approached very closely, and now Thor had a good look at a side view of the Jötunn, long dark hair obscuring his face, making a strange gesture and then sweeping an object out of nowhere.

Thor audibly gasped and Jane demanded, “What?”

“That’s – the Casket of Ancient Winters!”

Jane said again, “What?”

But Thor stared in horror at the small Jötunn as he aimed a beam from it directly up into the sky, destroying the whale-like vessels pouring out of the rift.

How could the Jötnar have the Casket?  What of Asgard?  _With that weapon gone from its vaults, what of Asgard?_

To the side of the small Jötunn the Scarlet Witch was using her powers to sweep the falling debris safely into a bombed-out area.  Close by, the Man of Iron was opening up parts of the strange apparatus.  He began working on its intricate mechanism.   Then he was lifting out a blue box – one Thor also recognized, from stories Odin had told of its safekeeping on Midgard. 

_The Tesseract._

_What was happening?_

Then, suddenly, the rift began closing.

And as it vanished the last of the creatures fell lifeless to the ground.

Thor stared speechless as the Frost Giants formed into a square and waited the approach of their smaller leader.  Why had the Jötnar destroyed the first beings?  How could it be that they acted in defense of Midgard?  What kind of plot was this?

But the television held only images, not answers.

 

Steve stood alone in the middle of dozens of collapsed alien bodies.  He looked up into a beautiful clear sky, utterly free of aliens or black rips to nowhere.  “Status!” he barked into his communicator.

Tony responded immediately, “Little Blue finished the job!  They’re all dead.”

“Tony, what – “

He shut his mouth and grabbed his shield as a figure appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and advanced toward him.

Like the other new aliens, he was nearly nude except for what looked like an armored loincloth, with additional armored pieces on his shoulders and forearms.  Like the others, his eyes were crimson, and there were weird lines on his skin.  Unlike the others, he had black hair, and as he stepped even closer Steve got a good look at his face.

And recognized its contours, and the contours of that body.

The alien stopped immediately and stood absolutely still. 

He could feel his jaw drop.  His mind went blank, then filled with astonishment and confusion. 

“Loki?”

The alien inclined his head.

“Are you an X Man?” Steve ventured. 

“I am not of your realm.”

The voice was the same.  Steve took a step toward him.  The alien face was all too readable in its expression of expected disappointment. 

“What are you?” Steve asked.

Loki drew himself up proudly.  “I am Loki Friggajarson of Jotunheim,” he said in that familiar accented voice, and Steve felt another wave of shock go through him.  Steve took another step closer, conscious of the wary look in Loki’s eyes.  He lifted one hand – and became aware that others had pressed in close behind him. 

Tony dropped from the sky.  He opened his face plate and looked Loki in the eye.  “So it’s Smurfs versus flying armadillos.  Thanks for the help, but just to let you know – if this is some kind of interstellar war go find another playground.”

Loki offered Stark a bright smile.  “Anthony Stark.”  Stark blinked and Loki’s grin went wider.  “You may be assured this is no playground.  This realm was the goal of the Chitauri.”

“Sir,” came Fury’s voice.  Steve glanced to where Fury was rapidly advancing on them.  Coulson was there as well, and what looked like half of SHIELD.  Fury ignored Stark and stopped directly in front of Loki.

Loki, still smiling, turned his gaze to Fury.  “Ah.  You will have questions, I am sure.”  He stepped to within an inch of Fury, who stood his ground.  Steve heard weapons shift and click and the whine of Stark’s weaponry.  A quick glance showed Stark pointing his weapons at the SHIELD operatives.

Loki’s smile exposed all his teeth.  “I would prefer to have this discussion elsewhere.”  He lunged, grabbed Steve and Fury and was suddenly –

They were elsewhere.

Thor and Jane started as suddenly the television picture scrambled into smears and squares and then went black.

An image returned an instant later, focused on a newscaster’s desk.  Two anchors, speechless and terrified, leapt to their feet and began backing away.  There were shrieks and gasps and sudden scuttling from off-camera.  Then three figures moved into view – Captain America, a black man with an eye patch, and –

An alien.

Thor swore a ferocious Asgardian oath.  Jane laid a hand on his arm, but kept her attention on the screen.

The blonde anchorwoman in the blue dress recovered and moved around the desk, expression eager.  At Loki’s side, Fury was busy on his phone, while Captain America was watching Loki and the newswoman closely.

She lifted a cautious hand toward Loki.  “Would you like to make a public statement to the people of our world?” 

Loki bowed and smiled courteously to her.  “I would indeed.”  Her eyes went even wider, and then she composed her features.

Words flashed across the bottom of the screen - EXCLUSIVE FROM CNN!!!! 

“We’re not watching CNN,” Jane mumbled distractedly.

“I am Loki of Jotunheim, and I have come to offer an alliance with your world…”  He glanced over at Fury and Steve.  “I know you all know your hero Captain America, so may I also present Nicholas Fury – ” who shoved his phone in his pocket and leveled an assessing look at Loki, who gave him a toothy smile.  Thor heard the sound of people pounding and shouting, but no further people came within view of the camera.  “He represents organizations of your world known as SHIELD and the World Security Council.  I believe they are not as well known as your Avengers.” 

“Mr., um, Loki – what do you want us to call you?” said the blonde anchorwoman.  
Loki offered her a dazzling smile then looked directly into the camera.  “You may call me Loki.”

Thor reached uselessly for Mjolnir, still stubbornly stuck in a crater some distance away.  “What foul trickery is this?”

“What do you mean?” Jane had given him her full attention.

“That’s my brother,” he said.

She looked at the screen and then back at him.  “Um, Thor – is there something you haven’t told me about what you really look like?”

He stared at her in astonishment, then back to the screen.  “No.  But I know not why he has taken this form.”

“…I would like to discuss certain issues with the rulers of your world,” Loki said.  “In, shall we say, three days time?  In the main chamber of your United Nations?”

He smiled at the camera and vanished.  The newsroom erupted into chaos as suddenly the doors opened and a crowd of people, many with guns, spilled inside.  Thor and Jane kept watching as order was restored. 

Jane and Thor listened to the radio all the way on their drive to New York, but the only thing that happened for the next three days was an endless discussion of what had just happened.  Numerous people were called on to state that, actually, they didn’t know a thing about what had just happened but were more than pleased to talk at length about it.  And Jane, though she already had asked Thor all the questions she could think of asking, was suddenly full of many more.  Thor tried to answer them to the best of his ability, all the while thinking that Loki, being the clever one, would have been able to easily satisfy her curiosity.

He couldn’t get the image out of his head.  Loki.  In Jötunn form.  Why?  After what had happened on Jotunheim, why would Loki do this?   

_And what of Asgard?  And still Heimdall ignored his calls._

 


	7. Chapter Six

Two days after what was already being called The Battle of New York, Steve went back to Central Park.  He’d spent a good portion of the first day being questioned by SHIELD about what Loki had said to him when he first approached them.  Steve repeated his chosen story – that Loki recognized him as leader of the Avengers and for that reason chose him to contact once the battle was over.  Tony and Wanda, as well, had been extensively interrogated regarding their interactions with Loki, and Tony had had a great deal to say about his opinion of SHIELD later that day.  The Avengers helped to clean out debris in the affected areas for the remainder of the day.  There had been surprisingly few casualties, and thanks to Wanda most of the damage had been contained to a few areas.  The Chitauri bodies and ships, unsurprisingly, vanished first, swept up by nondescript trucks filled with nondescript men. 

Steve knew that all the television stations were devoting 24 hours a day to showing one blurry shaky cell phone and security camera clip after another.  Countless talking heads talked talked and talked, but when it came down to it the news could be summarized in the New York Post’s three lines:  ALIEN INVASION!  BLUE ALIENS REPEL ENEMY!  U.N. CONFERENCE SCHEDULED!

There were no explanations, only questions.  Who were the first group of aliens?  Why had they come here?  Who was Loki?  Who were the blue giants?  They had all disappeared through another rift at the moment Loki had taken Steve and Fury to the CNN newsroom.

Yesterday, the Mayor gathered The Avengers for a photo-op, and, after, in the subtlest way possible, indicated their presence was now more of a hindrance than a help due to the constant media circus.  This was something they all knew and, Tony’s grandstanding to the contrary, understood perfectly well.  They were a distraction.  It was time to melt back into their civilian lives. 

Steve walked past his favorite bench and instead went wandering through the park’s pathways, trying not to think, focusing on enjoying the air and sunlight and greenery.  All around him people strolled and sat and met up with each other, as if aliens hadn’t poured out of the sky and attacked their city two days prior, and this was one of the reasons he loved New York.

He kept on walking and finally settled for a place within sight of Belvedere Castle.  He opened his drawing pad, took out his pencils, and sketched a few lines, concentrating on the texture of the stones comprising the fake castle’s tower.

It wasn’t any good.  He let the pencils and his hand drop. 

“Strange structure,” an all too familiar voice drawled and then Loki, looking exactly as he had when they first met, stepped into view and stood before him.

Steve stiffened, but Loki kept his attention on the castle.  “I like it.  A structure built to mimic a fortress, having no purpose save amusement.”  A bitter twist touched his lips.

Steve stared at his sharp profile, the skin as pale as he remembered, the eyes green, but his mind supplied the image of the red-eyed blue-skinned _creature_ , his mind seeing the overlay against the pale skin.

“Which of you is real?” he demanded, standing up.

“Both?  Neither?  I’ve asked myself those same questions.”  Still he did not look at Steve.

Steve didn’t know what to feel – not now, and not for the past two days.  Anger.  Curiosity.  Betrayal.  Remembering how he had felt two years ago, the newness, the passion, the attraction, the trust.  Now, the burning need for answers, and gut-deep frustration in the certainty he was not going to get them.  He asked anyway, “How about some answers?” 

“I have none, to that question, at least.” Loki twisted his mouth in an expression that Steve might have called rueful if it was something human beside him.

Steve pushed down the knot of emotion and focused on facts.  “Why are you here?”

And, finally, Loki looked at him and gave him a smile which somehow combined regret and arrogance and sharp intelligence.  “Now, a question with so _many_ answers.” 

“Start with one.” Steve stood before him as if he were a drill sergeant expecting answers from a raw recruit. 

Loki tilted his head, not reacting to his body language. “I came here because I wished to learn more about your realm.”

“Why?” Steve demanded, hot anger driving his words.  “Do you even think the way we do?  Feel the way we do?” 

Loki looked at him consideringly.  “In all the realms there are many constants,” he finally said.  “War is one.  Envy.  Greed.”

“And what about love?  Family?  Friends?  Home?”

Loki barked a sharp ironic laugh.  “Yes.  Those too.  As well as lies and deceit.”

Steve pulled back at the harshness in his tone.  “You saved us.  We’re all grateful – I’m grateful.  But why – why did you – was I just some kind of _experiment_?”

Raw pain flickered through Loki’s eyes and he whispered the words _stolen relic_ so quietly Steve barely heard.  But before Steve could ask what he meant by that incomprehensible phrase, he went on.  “You intrigued me.  The world sees only your surface.  But you too have someone else living beneath your skin.  But of course you’ve known all along…  who you are.”

This was unstable ground.  But Steve forged ahead.  “I’m going to assume,” he said carefully, “that you’re right and we share basic ideas about who and what we are.  I had assumed that this – ” he gestured to Loki’s face – “is just a disguise so you could be here without anyone knowing you were an alien.  What you just said – that I’ve known all along who I was.  That implies – you didn’t know who you were.”

Loki stared down at his pale long-fingered hands and tangled his fingers together.  “The realm I was born to was torn apart by war when I was still a babe,” Loki said.  “That realm is the home to the warriors I brought with me.  But I was – defective.  Small.  Weak.  As you saw, I have not the height or the strength of my people.”

Steve swallowed hard, instant images filling his mind - fighting in alleys, not giving up no matter how many times he was defeated by toughs and bullies larger and stronger than he was -

“But you are so powerful,” he said.  “Even with your army, it was you who found a way to turn the enemy back.  You had the weapon, the strategy - ”

“Now.  Then, as a babe, I was left to die.”

Steve went cold, thinking of dead children he’d seen by roadsides, small fragile bodies left abandoned in the mud.  He swallowed heavily.

“I have since learned I was never given a name by the parents of my body,” Loki was continuing, his voice bitter.  “I was born nothing, not worth even a name.  I was taken from that land and raised by the enemy, disguised from the moment of my taking with the appearance of their skin.  As you see.”  He spread his arms. “This is who I am – or  who I thought I was.”

Steve’s gut clenched at Loki’s brittle tone and the darkness in his eyes.

“Only recently did I learn the truth, to my horror – that I am one of the enemy.  I was filled with great rage and so I left my home – what I thought had been my home – because I could not bear to spend another day knowing my entire existence was a lie.  I wandered for a long time.”  He hesitated.  “On your realm.  I saw many interesting things.”  Again a pause, a measured stare.  “But then I thought, better to build, better for the realm of my birth to take its rightful place among the Nine.  And so I returned.  And so I did what I thought to do.  I took my place and began a great task, to bring Jotunheim back to its former glory.  But that wasn’t enough.”  He fixed Steve with an intent gaze.  “As you see, there are others out there who would invade, despoil, destroy.  There are powers out there large enough to conquer whole worlds.  Jotunheim needs allies.  What realm better than yours?  You are so clever and creative; you are already close to walking between the realms yourselves.  There are those, in Tromsø and elsewhere, who are close to embarking on these journeys.  Why wait until you have done so, when the danger is already here?  I came here seeking allies – and found you.”

“And who are you?  Is Loki Friggajarson just some name you chose to use while you’re here?”

“That is my name.  One of my names.  I was Loki Odinson when I believed myself – other than what I truly am.  Loki Friggajarson is the name I use now.” Loki gave him an ironic smile.  “I am not the only one with more than one name.  Do you not find it easier to choose which to be – Captain America or Steve Rogers – when you so desire?”

The truth of it was something he’d known but not examined.  Captain America, so sure, so strong, so symbolic of everything he had ever desired to be.  Steve Rogers, drifting in anonymity in this familiar/unfamiliar city, losing himself in his art and his music and casual friendships.  Even the two men he had dated since Loki had been in his life only a matter of weeks.  Loki had given him a gift, he realized; he’d been able to reach out and meet other men.  Only to find out he had nothing in common with them; the vast gap in life experience was something he couldn’t surpass and couldn’t even try to explain to either of them.  He hadn’t even considered telling them who he was, but starting a relationship built on a lie had left him without any foundation.

Steve understood then, remembered his desire for this man when he thought their encounter had been something ordinary, two strangers meeting, then parting.  Life going on.

Both of them lying about who they were.  Though of course Loki had known all along who Steve was.

“Why did you approach me in the park?”

“I wanted to know who you were.  I was intrigued by what you – ”  Loki paused as Steve’s eyes narrowed.  “I was seeking allies.  I did not expect to find a lover.”

“I decided, two days ago, that nothing that happened between us was real,” Steve said coldly.

“Can you doubt I desired you?”  There was sudden heat in Loki’s gaze, but there was also expected rejection.  He began to turn away.

Steve realized he had already changed his mind, that the image of a rejected, abandoned child had convinced him that Loki was right; that their peoples had something in common.  Whatever else they were, whatever kind of beings they were, these feelings were the same.

Loki stilled as Steve reached out and grasped one of his hands.  Watched as Steve intertwined their fingers.   “No.  I don’t.  Not anymore.”  Steve squeezed his hand. Then drew him close and kissed his mouth.

Loki pulled away.  “You know what lies beneath my skin.  You have seen my true form – the other realms revile and despise us and call us monsters.”

“You seem like heroes to me,” Steve said, and watched complicated expressions chase each other across Loki’s face.  He decided to be direct.  “Come to my apartment.  I have something to show you.”

 

Inside the cool dimness of his apartment, Steve led Loki to his bedroom.  He pulled out the table drawer, fingers moving past the box containing Loki’s farewell note, finding and picking up a small envelope.  He extracted a black and white photo and handed it to Loki.  “Now you know what lies beneath my skin.”

Loki gently touched the Steve’s pre-serum picture.  “Your eyes are the same.”

Steve took the lead and moved into Loki’s arms.  “I recognized you just as soon as I saw your face.  That’s the same, too.”  He pressed his lips to Loki’s, and felt a sudden shock of surprise as Loki lifted him and carried him the few feet to the bed.  Surprise, that he wasn’t angry at being handled like this.  Surprise, that he liked it. 

Loki then whispered into his ear, “If you desire to take me, you cannot hurt me.”  And so it was.

 


	8. Epilogue

And so all the kingdoms of Midgard gathered in a place called the United Nations and the ones called The Avengers were there was well.  There was much bickering and threats and squabbling and accusations of “conspiracies” and other such fears.  There were also those who claimed it all was a hoax and could not be convinced otherwise.

Loki King spoke to them of the Mad Titan and the Kree and the Skrull, at war for millennia, all of these forces coming ever closer to Midgard.

While the arguing went on Loki left them to it and made his abode in secrecy with the one called Captain America.  He did one other thing, as well. 

He went to the banished Prince Thor, who had come to New York City with his woman the sorceress Jane Foster and had been pacing the armed perimeter set many blocks away from the United Nations.  Many soldiers filled the area surrounding the building itself.  There Loki said to him, “Brother, do you want to be a hero?” 

Thor, surprised and angered, asked many questions about him and about the Jötnar, and Loki told him a very long tale indeed.  Then Thor had a great deal more to say, as did Loki, and there was shouting and anger, some reserved for Odin King.  Then, finally, reconciliation, and they embraced each other with smiles and promises.  Then Loki told Thor of the enemies facing all the realms, and Thor swore upon his hammer, though it still lay in a crater in Puente Antiguo, that together they would defeat all who threatened the Nine.  From that moment forth he was stalwart and true and would one day be a great King himself.

When, after a great deal of time the Midgardians finally came to a decision and offered truce and treaty with Jotunheim, Loki accepted. 

He then presented his brother to The Avengers.  He made a request, that his brother be allowed to prove his heroism, and it was not long before Thor accomplished this deed when yet another wave of Doombots invaded the city.  Thor saved lives and nearly lost his own when part of a wall fell on him just as he pulled a child to safety.  But all was well for he was given the power of Mjolnir again for his actions.

Loki met with Jane Foster also, as she greatly desired to consult with him about the rifts in space he created with such ease.  And such was the work they did together that Midgard created its own Bifrost before many years had passed, which they called the Foster-Selvig Bridge.

There was one more task left to be done, and so Loki King removed the spell shielding him and his doings from Odin King’s eyes and sent an envoy to Asgard.  Odin was wroth and had much to say, but though the mortal Tony Stark never knew how it had vanished from his guard but had an accurate guess as to who had taken it, Loki had acquired the Tesseract.  With that power, and the Casket which, as he pointed out, was rightfully his, Loki made Odin King treat with him, not as the All-Father and Ruler of the Nine, but as one king equal to another.

So Loki told Odin King of the power behind the Chitauri, the Mad Titan, and also of the Kree and the Skrull, and Odin King came to understand the wide universe contained far more than the Nine. 

Then Loki went to the Queen’s chambers, bringing Thor with him.  Frigga welcomed her two sons back into her arms and wept with joy that her sons were back and were reconciled.  She was gratified, as well, to realize that Loki, by wielding the Casket and dwelling in his own skin so much on Jotunheim had come truly into his power.  His skills in seiðr had been great in his Aesir skin but greater yet in his natural skin, for there was no impediment now to the energy flow within his body.  Thus, Loki becames the greatest seiðmaðr ever known to the Nine.

As for Midgard’s greatest warrior, the one whose kenning was Captain America, he and Loki spent much time together, for though Loki was often occupied with affairs of state, it was nothing to him to travel between worlds, and he did so frequently.

It was not long thereafter that Midgard came to understand that Captain America and Steve Rogers were one and the same.  Midgard soon became accustomed to seeing Steve Rogers and Loki Friggajarson walking through the pathways of Central Park, their hands entwined, stopping to occasionally embrace.  Often those who sought to capture their images found that their cameras had failed, and even for those who succeeded in capturing images, they disappeared off the Midgardian ‘Youtube’ as quickly as they had appeared.

Many years went by and Steve Rogers did not age.  As his world changed around him, again and again, he and Loki King visited each other’s realms often, both to be champions of their worlds and companions and lovers to each other.  Steve Rogers found, due to his long slumber in the ice, Jotunheim to be welcoming indeed, and dwelled there for considerable time each year.

And thus were the realms united for this weaving of the Norns, for this cycle of Destiny and Fate, until the time comes for this pattern to be completed.

And then the pattern is unmade, Fate’s wheel turns again, and the Norns begin work on a new pattern.

And another tale begins…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is based on this prompt: “The Jotun (Loki at their head) save Earth from the Chitauri.”


End file.
